


Unrequited

by KitsJay



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love, cabin pressure meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsJay/pseuds/KitsJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the cabin crew is in love with someone he can never have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrequited

“So, Martin, any exciting plans for the weekend?” Douglas asked while absently giving a good bang to the ground proximity alert, which had been loudly warning them of the tarmac they were on for the past fifteen minutes. The automated voice died with a resentful slur. He and Martin ticked through the post-landing check by rote. 

“Mm,” Martin said. “Not particularly. Maybe review my flight logs.”

“Was that a hint?” said Douglas mildly.

“Not at all, unless you’re feeling guilty about something,” Martin said with a pointed look. “Three weeks’ worth of something?”

“I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Let me refresh your memory then. Flight logs are—“

“Spare me, Martin,” Douglas interrupted him with a sigh. He flipped the last switch, gave Gertie an affectionate pat on her console, and stood to stretch out his cramped muscles. “I’ll be sure to do them at the soonest convenient time.”

“Convenient for me or for you?” Martin said. He really was getting better at this. It had taken him twice as long as it should have, but time had proven that eventually, he did catch on. 

“Neither, as it happens,” Carolyn strode in. “I’m afraid both of you will be staying a while longer yet.”

“What? Carolyn, we deserve twelve hours rest,” Martin protested. 

Carolyn arched one thin eyebrow at him. “Yes, and you will get it. However, nowhere does it say _which_ twelve hours you will have.”

“Carolyn, really,” Douglas began in his most coaxing voice. Carolyn held up her hand for silence.

“I know, it’s terrible of me to ask my employees to work, but these _are_ hard times,” she said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll make do somehow. Two hours is all I ask, then you can jaunt off to whatever it is you do on free days.”

“And what, may I ask, are we going to be doing during these two hours?”

“In one hour and a quarter, a man is going to come by to take a look at my two pilots and the plane. If the first doesn’t put him off, then he may sign a contract with us, which, I needn’t remind you, would be a very good thing, as businesses tend to prefer to _make_ money rather than siphon it away.”

Douglas let out an irritated sigh, but bowed to the inevitable. It wasn’t often that Carolyn gave them a free weekend, and asking two more hours really was not that extraordinary of her. They had landed early anyway. He was surprised to see a flash of irritation cross Martin’s face.

“What are you worked up about? I thought you were planning on reviewing your flight logs. I know they’re riveting, but your disappointment seems a tad extreme.”

“It’s not that,” Martin said, fidgeting. His face was flushed a faint red and his hand kept plucking at the crisp line of his uniform. “I need to make a call.”

Douglas took an ostentatious look up and down the deserted cabin before turning back to Martin. “I see how the hordes of mobile phone policemen ready to tackle you as soon as you pull out your mobile would discourage you from doing so, but I have a cunning plan. I'll distract them while you give whoever it is a ring."

Martin sighed. “It’s a personal matter.”

“I solemnly swear not to listen,” Douglas said, holding his hand up as if taking an oath. 

Martin squinted at him suspiciously. “You promise?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Martin, I promise. You can even make it outside, if it bothers you that much,” Douglas said. “Although unless ‘personal’ is code for ‘cocaine’ and ‘matter’ means ‘smuggling’, I really don’t see the need for such furtiveness.”

“It’s—oh, never mind,” Martin ducked outside the cabin and headed toward the galley. Douglas stretched out, fully planning on taking a nap in the copilot’s seat. He could hear Arthur hoovering the aircraft clean, humming terribly off-key as he did so, and let it lull him into a relaxed slumber which was interrupted by Martin’s voice. Douglas looked around, realising with a faint quirk of his lips that Martin had somehow managed to turn on the intercom system, presumably by accident.

“I know, but I’ll be a little late,” Martin’s voice said. There was a pause. “I can’t very well tell my boss, ‘Sorry, old friend coming in, can’t stay’, now can I?”

Douglas arched an eyebrow. Interesting; why would Martin have lied about his plans for the weekend? A lady friend perhaps?

“No, don’t come up, I’ll be there—well, no, of course not, I’d love to show you around, but—yes. Yes. Alright. See you soon.”

Despite his protestations, Martin sounded pleased, brighter somehow than his normal self. He sounded like Arthur at any given point in time, truth be told, which was a frightening thought and one Douglas soon banished. One Arthur per aircraft was absolutely plenty and sometimes even then still too much. 

Martin wandered back in, phone tucked away into his pocket, a faint smile on his face.

“Good news?” Douglas inquired casually. 

“Yes,” Martin nodded. “Well, sort of.” 

“Really? Anything… interesting?”

“Douglas, are you fishing?” Martin peered at him. 

“Now why on earth would I do that?” Douglas said. “Especially seeing as how I’ve already caught a trout.”

“What?”

Douglas pointed to the intercom system. “I really did try not to listen, but you make it awfully hard when it’s coming through the speakers.”

Martin groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, bollocks.”

“Yes, indeed,” Douglas said with false sympathy. “At first I couldn’t see why you were so guarded about an old friend coming to visit, but I recognise the symptoms, even if I haven’t yet met the disease.”

“What are you talking about?”

“More than an old friend, I’d say, to put that smile on your face,” Douglas pointed out. “And I haven’t heard you so pleased since someone finally addressed you as Captain.”

“Oh, shut up. And he is just an old friend, nothing more,” Martin sounded oddly peevish about the entire thing, much more than usual when Douglas teased him about something. His hand had resumed its nervous plucking and his face was flushed red again. Douglas stared at him in consideration.

“Ah, I see,” he suddenly said. 

“See what?” 

“Just an old friend, but one that you’d like to be more,” Douglas guessed. The sudden clenching of Martin’s fists told him he was spot on. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“It’s complicated,” Martin grumbled. “Can we please drop it?”

“I’m not the one who invited my boyfriend—”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

“He’s a friend who is of the masculine persuasion, is he not?”

Martin shot him a glare that would have sunk a battleship. Douglas ignored it cheerfully, recognising an opportunity for poking fun when he saw it; his finely honed senses smelled weakness in Martin like a lion on the savannah. 

“Ahh, the wisdom of youth. You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t tell him, Martin,” Douglas pointed out reasonably. “You were the one who was telling me that you can’t very well jump rafts, and yet here is a man sitting on your raft, and you’re not willing to—”

“Douglas, please, you’re allowed to make fun of me for anything else, but please let this one go,” Martin said. His voice was pitched low with desperation and his eyes were wide and pleading. He looked genuinely distressed. 

“You really are,” Douglas said with wonder. “You’re really truly in love with this fellow.”

Martin turned away, fiddling with controls that Douglas knew very well didn’t need fiddling with at all. “Douglas…”

“Martin,” Douglas’s voice was suddenly serious. “How long have you been in love with him?”

Martin winced and mumbled something that Douglas had to strain to hear. “Fifteen years.”

Douglas nearly choked. “Fifteen?”

“He's an old school chum,” Martin said glumly. He had given up the controls and was twirling his captain’s hat in his hands despondently. “We were close, really close. Sometimes I think he was the only real friend I had. I didn’t even know that I was in love with him until—” 

His voice broke off and Douglas, for once, didn’t push.

“Why haven’t you told him yet, then?” Douglas asked gently. “Is he not gay?”

Martin let out a laugh that sounded far too bitter to be coming out of a young man’s mouth. “No, no, he’s definitely gay. He’s the one who finally made me realise that I was, actually. Is that ironic or just pathetic?”

“There’s no shame in being in love,” Douglas said, placing a sympathetic hand on Martin’s shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. If there was one thing his years in life and love had taught him, as well as his several marriages, was that there really was no helping it when it struck. 

“Well. It’s too late now, anyway,” Martin said, straightening and putting on a smile that looked sickly and patently false. 

“It’s never too late.”

“No, sometimes it really is,” Martin shook his head. “He’s with someone. They’ve been together the past two years and they’re both wonderfully in love. I wish I could hate him, either of them, but God help me, I actually want him to be happier more than I want me to be with him. And if James makes him happy…” Martin trailed off and gave a fatalistic shrug. There was something about it that made Douglas unaccountably sad; for all his faults, Martin did deserve to be happy, whether he thought so or not. 

“Oh, Martin…” Douglas resisted the urge to gather Martin up in his arms and tuck him away somewhere, safe from anything that could hurt him. Though he was more than happy to rile the young man up whenever he was bored, Martin was _his_ captain and no one else had the right to hurt him. 

“You’ll like him,” Martin said with false cheerfulness. “He’s very excited to see the plane and meet everyone. He told me that he always knew I would become a pilot.”

They both shared a wry grin at that. Even the best of friends had to have been losing their faith after the fourth or fifth time Martin took the test. 

“Why—” Douglas paused, unsure of how to phrase it. “Why do you keep—”

“Seeing him? Even though it feels like someone’s cut a bit of me out every time?” Martin finished for him. He sighed and leaned back, clearly thinking about it. “I don’t know. It’d be worse to not see him, somehow. He makes me happy, even if it is bittersweet. I’d forgotten that, but talking to him—I’ve never felt that way about anyone else.”

“Martin, I’m sorry,” Douglas said sincerely. “I really am.”

Martin nodded an acknowledgement and they both sat in companionable silence for a moment. Arthur poked his head in, interrupting them with his chirpy voice.

“Mum says there’s a bloke saying he’s a friend of Martin’s here,” he announced. “His name is Geoffrey Kidder?”

“Why didn’t she just let him come in?” Douglas said, baffled.

“Let me guess, she didn’t believe that I had a friend,” Martin said, rolling his eyes. “Tell her that he’ll be gone before the potential client gets here.”

Geoffrey Kidder turned out to be a tall, ordinary looking chap with a bright smile, a nose a smidgen too big for his face, and possessed the ability to make Martin light up like a Christmas tree when he threw his arm around him. Douglas wanted to hate him, wished that he had horns growing out the top of his head or a forked tongue or any other signs, but he was just an affable, nice man who somehow was completely oblivious to the fact that Martin spent half the time staring adoringly at him and the other half looking away guiltily. 

Sighing, Douglas left them to their reunion, retiring to the cabin for the nap he had missed earlier. Arthur joined him shortly after, excusing himself when it was clear the two old friends wanted to catch up. He sat in the pilot’s seat, twitching.

Douglas heaved a sigh. “Yes, Arthur?”

“Skip, he’s—well, I mean—it’s just that it seems—”

“Arthur,” Douglas said patiently. “I realise this is difficult for you, but sentences do generally communicate an entire thought, not just the first half of one.”

“Right, it’s just. Is Skip in love?”

Douglas stared at Arthur, somewhat impressed that he had picked up on it. More impressive, he thought cynically, was the fact that the man in question, Geoffrey, had not. 

“I don’t think that’s for me to say, Arthur,” Douglas said. 

Arthur nodded and managed almost a full thirty seconds of quiet before speaking again.

“Douglas?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“You’ve been married a few times now, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Arthur.”

Arthur hesitated. “Do you think there’s someone out there? You know, like a one true love and all that?”

Douglas blinked at the ceiling. He was much too exhausted for these sorts of conversations. “Arthur, if you repeat this, you will never again eat even the last remnants of the cheese tray, are we understood?”

“Yes,” Arthur said with an eager nod.

“I think,” Douglas said slowly, “that an old romantic who keeps getting married would say that there’s someone out there for everyone, soul mates, if you will. Unrequited love is all well and good, but no one is destined to be forever pining after someone who isn’t interested. Eventually they’ll find their one true love, as you so quaintly put it, and be happy. Of course, those aren’t my thoughts, but an old romantic might say them, you see.”

“Ah, yeah, of course,” Arthur said with a conspiratorial wink that somehow involved both eyes. 

There was another twenty seconds of blissful silence.

“Douglas?”

“ _Yes_ , Arthur, what is it now?”

“Do you think Skip will find his one true love?”

Douglas tilted his head back and stared at the low ceiling of the aircraft. “I think he will, Arthur. There's someone out there who will love him and cherish him and who he will love back. It may take a while, but he'll find him."

"Good," Arthur nodded happily.

"Granted, it may take an awfully _long_ time, but even Martin will eventually find someone who loves him as he is, neuroses and all."


End file.
